


Can It Be? (The Way It Was)

by empireoffclouds



Category: Football RPF, real madrid
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chelsea - Freeform, Fluff, Juventus, M/M, Transfers are a bitch huh?, and it hurt a bit, and this came to mind, angsty angst, but - Freeform, cause i was listening to it and crying, i needed to write morisco, idk why, loosely based on stay with me, real madrid - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 15:10:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12656004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empireoffclouds/pseuds/empireoffclouds
Summary: Even when he was gone he was still there, and somehow Isco had tried to fill the void.He had sworn he would move on, forget Álvaro and everything they had, but how could he?





	Can It Be? (The Way It Was)

**Author's Note:**

> I needed Morisco, and I’m sure many of you needed it as well. So here it is, loosely based on The Way It Was by the Killers and Stay With Me by Sam Smith.
> 
> As always please leave kudos and/or comments if you enjoyed it, because they truly inspire me to keep writing.

Isco stares into the mirror, watching the steam curl around him, and the gush of the shower running not quite drowning out his thoughts. He reaches up and presses his fingers against the purple bruising against his neck and winces at the sting of it. There are several more along his shoulder, mixing with the bite marks, and more bruising peaking out over the hem of his boxers, like fingerprints.

Álvaro always did love marking him.

His whole body is littered with the proof of their night together and he trembles, tears rushing to his eyes so quickly it leaves him breathless, and he pulls on the white sweater quickly as though out of sight really _could_ mean out of mind.

He hears the twist of the shower handle and the water cuts off. The silence is terrifying, and Isco holds onto the soft _plink_ of stray water droplets as they hit the tile. He takes a deep breath, trying to compose himself before Álvaro can see.

The shower door opens with a creak and Álvaro steps out, in all his well-muscled glory, wrapping a towel around his waist, before looking up and pausing midstep.

“You’re up,” Álvaro says, obviously taken off guard. But there’s something gentle in his voice, almost desperate, like he’s both glad and frightened that Isco had woken up to see him like this.

“Were you going to leave without saying goodbye?” Isco asks, too worn to play games. Something like guilt flashes across Álvaro’s face, and he steps closer. His dark gaze cuts through Isco when he slides his eyes up his body, and Isco grips the counter to keep from shivering.

“You’re wearing my sweater,” Álvaro murmurs, and Isco’s heart jolts. He looks down, and it’s true- it’s one of Álvaro’s old sweaters, when he’d been in his street fashion phase. The sleeves are worn and the graphics are fading from years of wear and tear, mostly on Isco’s part. Because Isco always loved wearing Álvaro’s clothes, so much that they almost became his, and he didn’t _realize_ , even after all this _time_ -

“I was... wondering if you still had it.” Álvaro’s face is blank, but his eyes flicker with hesitation.

“I-I- I didn’t realize-” Isco stumbles on his words, feeling something lump in the back of his throat. He tugs at the hem of the sweater, both wanting to be rid of it, and swallowed by it. “I shouldn’t have-”

Álvaro grips his wrist, and Isco winces, because there are bruises there too. Álvaro immediately loosens his hold. “It’s okay,” he says softly, but it’s not okay, _nothing_ about this is okay, not when, even after a year, Isco is still holding on, carrying a piece of Álvaro with him. Álvaro had been so much a part of him that it wasn’t even a conscious effort. Even when he was gone he was still _there_ , and somehow Isco had tried to fill the void. He had _sworn_ he would move on, forget Álvaro and everything they had, but how could he? When he had several other sweaters in the back of his closet, the ones he’d pull on when he was drowning in loneliness, and only the comfort was the feeling of the fabric against his skin, almost like Álvaro was still there with him.

Even though Isco was the one who left him.

“ _Isco_ …”

He swallows, barely finding it within himself to look up, up at this dangerously handsome man who had settled himself so comfortably in Isco’s heart that even after he was gone, he never really left. Álvaro’s voice is so full of longing, thick and deep, like he's trying to keep the feelings from spilling over.

Isco remembers when Álvaro used to say his name like that- how Álvaro used to hold him close and stroke his hair and press his name into his temple with his lips. How Álvaro would groan his name into Isco’s throat when he fucked him in his lap. How it would slip out, like a quiet sigh, when Isco would curl into his chest at night and whisper _goodnight, Alvie, I love you_ , into his neck and Álvaro would wrap around him whisper back, _goodnight baby, I love you too_.

Álvaro takes the final step forward, until their bodies are brushing, and Isco can see how nicely Álvaro’s golden skin glows from the shower, the little droplets of water that slide down his neck, and the strands of hair that stubbornly fall out of place from where Álvaro had swept his hair back.

“Can I-” Álvaro starts, hesitating. He brings his hand up to brush lightly against the hickeys on Isco’s neck with the back of his knuckles. “Can I see them?”

Álvaro had always always loved marking Isco . When they were together, there wasn’t a time when Isco’s body wasn’t marked in some way, most of them hidden where no one but Álvaro would be allowed to see. Álvaro would spend ages sometimes, lying in bed, staring at the bites and the bruises, feeling the hum of satisfaction and pure reverence for the beautiful man beside him, bearing his marks.

Isco whimpers softly, body wracking with shivers at Álvaro’s touch. He could never say no to anything Álvaro asked of him, not when everything he wanted Isco did too, desperately.

Álvaro traces his fingers down Isco’s neck, and curls them around the collar of the sweater, tugging it down to expose Isco’s shoulder. He smooths his hand across the supple skin, admiring it. Isco’s toes curl into the damp tile of the floor, feeling the weight of Álvaro’s gaze on him.

Isco lets Álvaro slip his other hand under the hem of the sweater, barely pulling it up and tugging the waistband of Isco’s boxers down with his thumb. Isco knows what he’ll see there- the deep purple marks of Álvaro’s fingers, tight on Isco’s thrashing hips as he fucked into him for hours.

Álvaro slips his hands under the boxers, running his hands across Isco’s ass. Isco screws his eyes shut, trying desperately not to let himself go, but when Álvaro tugs him close, pressing their foreheads together, Isco melts so quickly against him it’s almost humiliating.

“ _Baby_ …” Álvaro breathes against Isco’s temple, and Isco shakes to the core. “You look so beautiful like this, Isco. I missed you so much.”

Isco feels the dangerous tightness form in his chest, the beginnings of a sob working his way up his throat. Isco remembers how lovingly Álvaro used to say his name, how Álvaro would look at him like Isco was his entire world. But Isco also remembers night after night sleeping alone, or crying in Sergio’s or Nacho’s arms.

Because while Álvaro loved Isco, he loved his career more. And of course Isco understood. He understood how important it was to Álvaro that his career took off. That dream far outdated them, and Isco. But it was so _hard_ , being content with someone who was always looking for more. Álvaro always wanted bigger and better, and it was about time before he found someone better than Isco.

“Why did you have to leave me?” And for all of Álvaro’s confidence and intensity, he sounds so broken, right then, and it _hurts_ Isco. It hurts him so _much_. Knowing that Álvaro is in pain, because of him. Especially right now, with Isco nuzzling his nose against his cheek, heart thumping against Álvaro’s hand. But then again, Isco is in pain too, because of Álvaro.

“Don’t say it like that,” Isco sobs out, splaying his hands on Álvaro’s chest and pushing. "You know why." Alvaro’s steps back, looking like he’d been slapped. Isco can feel his eyes watering. “You were going to leave without saying goodbye,” he accuses. And it takes Álvaro a moment to understand what Isco means.

Isco can tell how difficult it is for Álvaro to keep his face from betraying any feeling, but he does- his face is flat, so devoid of emotion, and it makes Isco _furious_ , because he was always the more expressive of the two- crying when they fought and yelling and letting everything he was feeling out into the open. But Álvaro always went quiet, cutting himself off. It always made Isco feel so much weaker than him.

“I figured you would want me to,” he says quietly, and fire inside Isco goes out. He's right. This wasn’t supposed to happen like it did. This wasn’t supposed to happen _at all_.

They’d ran into each other at a local coffeeshop. Isco loved going there on his cheat days to have a cup of hot chocolate. Álvaro happened to be in that area after a family visit. Isco remembers how he had almost dropped his drink when he realized it was Álvaro, _his_ Álvaro, who he had bumped into by accident, how the apology died on his tongue when their gazes locked, and everything came crashing down.

They sat together and talked. Of course they would. They could be civil adults and have a conversation. When they broke up there hadn’t been much of a fight. Álvaro had seen the determination, the hurt (the hurt because of _him_ ) in Isco’s eyes, sighed, and said, “Okay, if that’s what you want,” and that was it.

They caught up. Isco was still starting for Madrid, and his life hadn’t changed much after Álvaro was gone except that Álvaro was gone. Álvaro, however, seemed like a different person. He had always been restless, never quite satisfied, always on edge, like if he didn’t work harder, everything was going to be taken away from him. But now, he looked settled. His jacket was Burberry, his shoes Italian leather, and his demeanor spoke of a man who was _finally_ satisfied with life. _Because you’re not holding him back anymore_ , whispered the voice in Isco’s head.

It should have ended at that. They were supposed to be two strangers. Whatever connection they had was to be severed, and this meeting was just a coincidence. They should have gone back to their lives.

But they hadn’t.

Because four years of being together warranted more than just a chat over coffee, hesitant smiles, and a place in a locked box at the back of their minds and their memories, never to be opened again.

Álvaro had offered Isco a ride home. He’d opened the passenger door of his slick black Audi, and his and Isco’s knuckles had brushed when Isco slipped inside. They had sat inside the car in silence for longer than proper when Álvaro reached Isco’s house. Isco had invited Álvaro for tea (or coffee, or _something_ ). Álvaro had said yes.

And when Álvaro pressed Isco back into his pillows, stripped him down, and asked if this was okay, it was Isco who had said yes. And he’d said yes and yes and _yes_ so many times last night, when Álvaro fucked him against every surface of his home, bending him in ways Isco thought his body couldn’t go. It was desperate and painful, as if they both knew that they only had until the sun rose over the horizon to be together. So they had spent every moment of darkness pressed against each other, loving and fucking and loving again.

And it was supposed to be over. Álvaro was supposed to go. He was supposed to slip out without saying goodbye because it would be painful, but not as painful as having to watch him go, watch him slip through Isco’s hands again.

“But you’re wearing my _sweater_ ,” Álvaro says, voice turning into a whisper, and he clenches and unclenches his hands, like he doesn’t know what to do with them if he’s not touching Isco. “You still have my sweater and you don’t want me to go.”

Isco does sob that time, shoulders sagging as he presses the heels of his palms over his eyes. There had been a time in the beginning when Álvaro was totally clueless about emotions, about them. But after so many years together, Álvaro had learned how to read Isco like an open book, and right now Isco wishes for the time when Álvaro couldn’t see right through him.

Álvaro is pressed against him in a second, wrapping his arms around Isco and tucking him into his body. Isco fits against Álvaro so perfectly and Isco wonders if there could ever be anyone who he could curl into the way he could with Álvaro, whether anyone could hold him the way Álvaro always did.

“Isco _I miss you_. So much. It hurt when I had to walk away and it hurt every day after that and it still hurts now. I don’t want to walk away again,” Álvaro murmurs into Isco’s hair.

“Why did you w-walk away the first time? When Italy happened? W-we could’ve tried long distance, we-” Isco chokes out, face pressed into Álvaro’s neck, and even with all of the hurt and the confusion, Álvaro is so so warm against him and he feels like he's home.

Álvaro pulls Isco away so he can look him in the eyes. “Because I could see how much I was hurting you.” He brushes Isco’s hair away from his face, his hands tender and careful. “I fucked up so bad. I hurt you and you deserve so much more than I knew I could give you then.”

Isco’s face crumples, bringing on a fresh wave of tears, but Álvaro just brushes them away with his thumbs, cradling Isco’s face in his hands. “A-and now? How can I know you won’t do the same thing again?”

Álvaro sighs, leaning in to press their foreheads together. “Things are different now, love. I always thought that the worst thing that could happen was not getting to start on every game, and working so hard only to watch everything crumble. But...”

Álvaro kisses the tears away, mouth soft against Isco's wet eyelashes and cheeks. “I lost my dream job before getting it back again. And I can tell you that _that_ was nothing compared to how it felt when I lost you. I would give up everything a million times over if I could have you by my side.”

Isco feels like his heart is going to burst from his chest. Wasn’t this what he’d wanted to hear, a year ago when he thought he wasn’t ever going to be as important to Álvaro as his career? What he’d wished so desperately for last night, while Álvaro fucked into him, slow and deep, pinning his wrists with his hands and kissing him like nothing else mattered?

He shakes again, another sob clawing up his throat, but this time from disbelief. He feels Álvaro pull away again, and watches in shock as Álvaro gets on his knees and holds Isco’s hands inside his own.

“Alvie, what are you d-doing?”

Álvaro looks up at Isco, face set in determination. “Begging for forgiveness,” he says, without a trace of embarrassment.

Isco opens his mouth to say something, but he’s at a loss for words. He doesn’t know what happened to the prideful Álvaro, the one who swore never get on his knees for anyone.

“I messed up, Isco. I fucked up so badly with you but-” He swallows, looking down for a moment like he’s trying to collect his thoughts, before staring up at Isco again. “-things are different now. I’m not the same person I was a year ago. I can treat you the way you deserve, Isco. I hurt you so much but I can love you better now. Please give me a chance to show you.”

Isco breathes out shakily, tugging one hand out of Álvaro’s hold to wipe his eyes with the back of the sweater sleeve.

“Isco?” Álvaro asks hesitantly, when Isco doesn’t say anything for a while.

“Get up babe, you look r-ridiculous,” Isco says, giving Álvaro a shaky smile. Pure relief and hope breaks out across Álvaro’s face, and Isco doesn’t think he’s ever seen him like that before. Álvaro leans in to press his face against Isco’s stomach, and Isco instinctively curls his fingers into Álvaro’s hair.

“I’m sorry,” Álvaro murmurs into the sweater. Isco sighs, wanting to cry again but maybe he’d used up all his tears. He tugs Álvaro away a little so he can get on his knees too, and cups Álvaro’s face, before kissing him deeply.

“I forgive you.”

**Author's Note:**

> So there you go friends, please leave me your thoughts on a comment, and if you wanna leave a prompt go to my tumblr: mexisco, I always take them into consideration :)


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